


Wisteria

by dolgelo



Category: Persona 3, Persona Series
Genre: AkiMitsuweek, Akimitsuweek2020, Back in middle school, Because all was more tender back then, F/M, Language of Flowers, Tenderness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-18
Updated: 2020-03-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:34:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23192479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dolgelo/pseuds/dolgelo
Summary: “So many students consider closing ceremonies to be boring. I find them pretty entertaining.”The girl’s thought did roll on her tongue with the utmost simplicity, warm spring days like those did put her in a good, and way talkative mood. And while the fact didn’t surprise the boy too much by now, he found it pleasant.“Which part of them is entertaining?” he asked, curiously.
Relationships: Kirijo Mitsuru & Sanada Akihiko, Kirijo Mitsuru/Sanada Akihiko
Kudos: 15





	Wisteria

**Author's Note:**

> First day of AkimitsuWeek, the prompt I chose was 'The Language of Flowers'.  
> I am but a simple girl in forced quarantine, dreaming to return to my university just for the beautiful wisteria plants welcoming me at the entrance, who bloom only mid-March and never again and have the sweetest smell.

“So many students consider closing ceremonies to be boring. I find them pretty entertaining.”

The girl’s thought did roll on her tongue with the utmost simplicity, warm spring days like those did put her in a good, and way talkative mood. And while the fact didn’t surprise the boy too much by now, he found it pleasant.

“Which part of them is entertaining?” he asked, curiously.

Mitsuru did fluff her hair with a pleasing smile, an expression that spoke more than words. Evidently happy to have been asked it, she continued, not letting go of her smirk:

“When people are called on the stage. Teachers too, with students. Under so many eyes and cameras, they must no show any sign of embarrassment -- or so they should. I noticed some can’t.”

Akihiko shook his head. Had middle school ceremonies being that big of a deal, he could have comprehended her. Instead, as always, she seemed to live in a sort of world of her own; one that was easy to even approach, not to mention share. 

Mitsuru did try her best explaining how, apparently, her scrutinizing and studying the body language of people on stage might have been of some use in the not-so-far-away future; she did mention how some teachers and professors they knew had betrayed their daily stern exterior by, too, showing a shake of the leg, or a trembling of their smile when confronted with parents or once on the stage, just a few moments prior.

“And that’s a big deal, uh?”

“It is, when you have a position of power. School too is a kind of hierarchy, Akihiko.”

The academic year was over. In less than a month, they would have returned there but with new uniforms, new shiny pins and perspectives -- as high school students.  
The gardens and many open areas of Gekkoukan Academy were crowded of students and adults alike, all parents and relatives come to witness with proud of their children’s special moment. The immense building used to accommodate middle school students was located left of Gekkoukan High, just next to the baseball and tennis fields. One had to go around the observatory tower to access the main entrance, but the crowds had the power to discourage anyone to venture through those fields. That was exactly why they had chosen to take the longer route.

As the ceremony had ended, Akihiko had found Mitsuru standing behind the rest of their peers, to bid goodbye to teachers and personnel left in the auditorium. As the exemplar student the whole school had more or less learnt to associate her to, it was not unexpected. Her father did own the school, some would have said the whole city. And gulf. And the city, figuratively speaking. Despite having known her well only recently, Akihiko was certain her behaviour was not an indicator of any trace self-conceit or haughtiness. That was simply Mitsuru’s way.  


So many things had happened, those past couples of years, much more than what any of their classmates would suspect, or even dream about. Entering high school with that sort of certainty felt aggravating on the shoulders, heavy. So, it was moments like those that had to be cherished the most - ones made of peace from the oppressing crowds and of a warm breeze, away from the cold nights and smell of rust and steel.

Mitsuru pointed at the far tennis field, desert. No parent or student, they thought, would venture over there, on the opposite direction from the station. The route was indeed longer, yet suggestive in its silence and beauty. It was a privilege, to walk down the small path connective the structure to diverse fields and green spaces.

“The monorail is gonna be packed,” considered Akihiko, with a shrug; “We’ll be at the dorm in hours at this rate.”

“Inviting parents will cause that.”

She promptly shut her mouth, not divulging too much on the subject. Instead, Akihiko took the chance to ask the friend about hers.

“They’re busy, and middle school graduation is not a big deal.”

“And the hierarchy talk?” he laughed, spinning his degree in his left hand; “The shaking voice and trembling legs?”

Mitsuru at his side stopped her walk, to quickly turn her head towards him. By doing so, her red curls were quickly sent dancing in the breeze for less than a second, the momentum of her dramatic, outraged turn of her head being the main cause. Dark eyes darted to intercept his gaze.

“My legs did not tremble, and my voice was as steady as I could--” she started, higher in tone.

He chuckled, simply raising his hands to give an illusion of tranquillity. Better not to wake up the sleeping dog-- he thought:

“I never said that!” he said, also pretty sure the round of applause at her name and call had been louder than any other’s. It seemed his words were enough to calm the girl, who returned to look before her, leather bag in a hand while the other did prop against her hip. “So where do we go from here?” continued the Akihiko.

“Taking the main monorail at the entrance won’t do, let’s just get to the station through the main street. The Station won’t be this crowded. And the lateral exit of the campus should save us some precious minutes.”

A moment of silence passed by, interrupted barely by the lively chirping of birds nearby.

Akihiko then threw a look at his shoulders, with a sigh.

“Cherry blossoms, by the high school. They all go there after graduation, taking pictures and whatnot, I bet.”

“You’ll be there in three years as well.” she smiled, her peace now returned. “Has Aragaki gone there too?”

The boy shrugged his shoulders.

“He’s still pretty difficult for me to read… but don’t tell him I told you this.”

“Shinji thinks the same about you, I’m sure!”

Mitsuru hummed pensively, a tilt of her head:  
“But you just told me...”

“So, three years! We’ll be under the cherry trees too?” he interrupted her, quickening the pace.

“For a picture…?” now the girl’s tone did sound almost worried. At Akihiko’s simple nod of the head, her smile stretched, yet in a unnatural, almost nervous fashion.

Envisioning crowds was something natural, for her. Yet the feeling of being trapped among a large number of people, while unable to count on a serious, fixed environment or academic rule code of conduct and expectations, she feared, would have thrown her out of her loop. A fish out of the water, for all the others to speculate about, or to laugh at - no matter the three years separating her from that moment.

“Shall I learn how to… professionally… improvise, or to pose casually--?” she whispered to herself, eyes lowering on her polished clean shoes.

“What did you say?” Akihiko asked.

“Forget it. Look!”

Red lips curved in a little smirk. Encircling the Gekkoukan Middle School had brought them to its backside. The pearl-white walls of that specific corner did not present windows, smooth to the touch, made of pure stone to resemble the ancient temples she had only seen in books, of old Greek architecture and culture. The classic columns at the entrances of each building were a pretty evident giveaway of such a style and preference.

That particular wall, though, did not present itself completely immaculate to the two’s gaze. The surface had veins across the cold, hard stone. The veins, made of wood, did run across it in intricate patterns and ties, to blossom in a cascade of violet and blue.

Akihiko stood still for a moment, eyeing the girl who had enthusiastically taken off her black jacket to remain in her candid blouse - which, under the bright sun, did seem to shine on its own. A smaller second sun. Mitsuru carefully approached the wall, leaving the stone path to step into the grass and admire the tree up close. He followed her, amused, to find her barely loosening the bow around her neck.

“Amazing, it bloomed.” she smiled, bright eyes.

“The smell…” he sniffed deeply of that perfume, a sweet one. It reminded him of something. Or better, a specific scene. He had read somewhere odors remained fixed in one’s brain with specific episodes. The sensation, while nostalgic, felt pleasant. “You knew about it?”

“Naturally.” Mitsuru said, placing delicately her bag and jacket against the wall, on the ground. A hand rose to touch the petals. “I used to read books here, my first years. I never saw them blooming, though. They do it only in these few days, when classes are over.”

“You came all the way here?! To read?”

“After classes. Do you know how distant my place is from Port Island? And how crowded roads get, at that hour?”

Silence returned, more stubborn and insistent now. He imitated her, leaving his bag, degree and jacket on the green, fresh grass they had just stepped on. So much for the exemplar students…!

“My house is in the country. Sometimes, the driver did take a while to get here. So I waited right where you stand.” she continued, “At the first ring of my phone, I’d walk to the exit, get in the car and return home.”

Akihiko nodded:  
“Before the dorm.”

Mitsuru’s eyes rose as well, sadder. Each petal she’d caress would inevitably fall. She nodded in return, in a slower way:  
“Before the dorm, right.”

“We could come here, in three years.”

“To leave high school and return here, for the picture?”

“Why not?”

She seemed to seriously ponder his idea, leaving the wisteria alone. To see it bloom was a rare sight. Wisteria flowers did bloom together, entire branches changing overnight, almost. They would have not lasted long: judging by the color of the lower petals of each bloom, Mitsuru deduced they were all ready to fall soon. The grass would be soon covered with a violent, pale veil, or rug. Despite their short life, the fall of wisteria did not indicate the death of the climbing plant as a whole; at the last fallen flower, the stone wall would be painted of bright green, for the many newborn leaves.

“It would be unique.”

“And…” he continued, with a smirk, “By then the Dark Hour may be gone already! Ever thought about it? Three years, it’s a long time!”

Mitsuru returned to smile, in bliss at his ideal future. One she wanted to believe to. By then, the Dark Hour might be gone, she might have learned how to casually look good in pictures together with Akihiko and Aragaki might have learnt to know her better.

“You’re ri--”

A small tune, coming out of her skirt pocket, interrupted Mitsuru’s words. She quickly produced her phone out of it, flipping it open -- before sighing at his curious eyes:  
“It’s not the driver…”

“Ikutsuki, right?” he asked.

She did not speak. He didn’t need anything more than Mitsuru's quick roll of her eyes to grasp the answer he needed. Imagining the Chairman anxious for their seeming disappearance did annoy the boy too. He fell quiet, watching her take the call with monotonous voice and lack of emotion, her formality back to alter her approach.

Akihiko couldn’t hear the man’s words, he would have had to ask Mitsuru what the big deal ever was. But when he saw her taking a step back, crouching with elegance to grab back her bag and jacket, he knew they were about to head, quickly, to whenever the man was asking them to go.

Yet, before she could finally stand straight again, Akihiko got hold of the moment. The rare chance of a distracted Mitsuru, busy at the phone and no free hands. Crouched to the ground, so small, Akihiko’s hand moved to a woody vine of the mosaic of wisteria on the wall. He counted to three in silence inside his head, before he shook vehemently the chosen vine. The shaken branches produced a relaxing yet loud noise of rustling leaves and flowers, and before Mitsuru could react or even understand what was going on, a waterfall of petals fell on both the boy and the girl’s head.

Taken aback, Mitsuru jumped straight and gasped loudly at the surprise, shards of violent tangling in her hair, inside her blouse and on her face. She wasn’t the only one -- Akihiko too was colored of white, and pastel purple and blue. Before long, the realization hit Mitsuru, that cleaning herself of every single petal he had made fall on her would have been impossible.  
She took away the phone from her ear, cheeks tinted of deep red as a petal did linger more than necessary on the tip of her nose.

They laughed at each other’s sight, shortly, briefly - at the slowest petals began falling into their mouths.

\--- _Wisteria : Long Life, Bliss, Tenderness._


End file.
